Outside the Airport
by Vanilla Twist
Summary: Abigail handles grief the way she has handled everything else; be numb, be dispassionate, and save face. Will she allow herself to feel again?


Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I am just borrowing as the final episodes of Dance Academy have left me heartbroken and inspired.

Abigail didn't even notice when the taxi pulled up in front of the airport. It wasn't until Ethan opened her door and gently took a hold of her arm that she was shaken from her daze.

"Come on Abigail," he grinned down at her, "I know you aren't that engrossed in your book."

Abigail blinked and allowed him to guide her out of the taxi.

"So, you're sure about this, yes?" Ethan asked, reaching for the bags she had left in the taxi. "About Barcelona? About dancing for me? About me?"

The uncertainty in his voice broke her heart a little and she was immediately flooded with memories of another boy looking down at her with the same insecurity she could see in Ethan's face. She would have taunted him then, made some kind of cutting, sarcastic remark, as was her way, and he would misunderstand and look hurt for a moment and then realize that it was only Abigail and this was her way. He knew that every remark she'd made, every criticism and every snark was her way of showing she cared. Well he did, didn't he?

"Abigail?" Ethan reached up to touch her face gently. She was surprised to see wetness on his fingers when he pulled his hand back.

"Abigail," his voice was soft and she let him pull her into his arms. "Abigail you know that you don't have to come to Barcelona. If you aren't ready you don't have to leave. It's fine if you aren't ready. I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you."

She winced into his shoulder, hearing another voice echoing similar words just over a year ago. Had it already been a year? She could still almost feel his breath on her neck, the warmth of him behind her as she dipped forward gracefully, his hands, hesitant and clammy as ever pulling her back up, maybe a bit jerkily, but for once she didn't mind. This was Sammy. He picked her back up when she had fallen. He had noticed when no one else did and cared when no one else would. He was gone now, and she didn't know anymore – who would care? Who would see her?

A car horn blared, startling Abigail from her reverie.

"I knew this was a terrible idea," Ethan mumbled, turning to summon another taxi.

"Wait!" Abigail reached out for him, without thinking.

"I am not going to make you come with me," Ethan said, not turning to look at her. "I don't know why you even agreed to come in the first place."

"It was a good opportunity to stay fit and train for next year," she said flatly, noticing that she was still reaching out for him and pulling her arm back quickly.

"Is that what this is?" he dropped the bag he had been holding, allowing it to hit the floor with a loud crash, causing Abigail to wince. "I'm going to call you a taxi inside."

As he stormed inside the airport, she sank to her knees beside her dropped bag and yanked back the zipper. It couldn't be broken. She heard the crash, but please let it be something else that had become jostled in the fall.

Her breath hitched and she felt a sharp sting as her fingers gripped broken porcelain. She pulled out the chipped music box and carefully opened the lid, pulling out a photograph of him smiling with his two best friends. It had been Tara's and she had taken it from her former roommate after the funeral.

Seeing him there, smiling up at her broke her heart a little more.

"You are terrible, Sammy Lieberman!" she hissed at the smiling boy in the photo. "What you did, kissing me like that and then you had to go and die, and now look where you've left me!"

The boy in the photograph continued to smile, even as her tears soaked the snapshot.

"I really did love you, you know," she continued with a soft hiccup. "I may have never told you, but I really did. You liked me, Abigail, not Abigail who dances ballet. You believed in me, you believed that I could be more than ballet."

She didn't notice Ethan's return.

"You said I was brilliant at everything, not just dancing," her shoulders shook lightly. "No one else has ever said that."

Ethan quietly sat beside her on the ground, listening to her talking to the photograph.

"You believed in me, even when I was horrible to you. And even though you were a horrible boyfriend, I still wanted to have you back."

She was startled when Ethan put his arm around her, but then leaned against him, letting the tears fall freely.

"I think you are brilliant, Abigail." He told her, as her tears began to subside. "Why do you think I asked you to come to Barcelona with me?"

She shrugged and he sighed deeply, standing slowly and helping her to her feet.

"I asked you to come," he pressed his forehead to hers lightly, "I asked you to come because every day that I've been away, I've thought of the Prix de Fonteyn auditions, in the wings when you kissed me and watching you move on that stage with such fire. I think of the showcase, the first time my father even acknowledged that I was good and how _you_ were the dancer who could change his mind – that you danced with the same ferocity and desperation I felt choreographing that piece. I think of your face when you thought I had kissed Grace; of your smile when you found your voice."

Abigail took a step back and stared at him.

"He cares about you, you idiot." Perhaps she was going crazy that she was hearing voices in her head. No, not voices, Sammy's voice.

"What?" she asked, stunned.

"Take a chance," Sammy's voice spoke to her, and she could hear the teasing lilt that she had always claimed to find irritating. "Take the chance to be happy Abigail."

"Ethan," she started, gaping at him. "Ethan, I don't know what to say…"

"Then show him!" Sammy's voice was practically screaming in her head.

And for once, she took his advice without resistance.


End file.
